


Fear

by naughtypixie



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Life Choices, Magically Necessary Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/pseuds/naughtypixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, it will be different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Mommy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland) for betaing and being fabulously pushy as always! All other mistakes are mine.
> 
> I... meant to write porn. This came out instead. T.T

It's quiet in the dark of the storage room, and his wrist is bleeding.

Not enough.

He'd been holding his magic back. Fearful of severing the arteries. Of finally doing what the demons had never been able to manage.

Always fearful.

Always afraid.

It's interesting that in all the years he'd been using this as a release, he hadn't ever considered letting the demons have him. It would have been easier on him, after all. Templars are trained for clean and swift killing.

It would have been a mercy.

It is meant as one.

There'd been many times when he had seriously considered the Right of Tranquility, but, every time he finds himself in front of Knight-Templar Graegoir’s corridor, he has... weakened. His feet falter, refusing to go forward.

Sometimes, his plans evolved far enough to involve telling them that he was a blood mage. He doesn't have any wounds -- it's too dangerous for that -- but he's good at healing spells. This is *why* he's good at healing spells.

And, perhaps, sometimes he's wondered what would happen if he didn't vanish *all* the evidence after his little ritual bloodletting. Maybe they would find him, using his phylactery like a pack of blood mabaris, sniffing him out and shouting: "You! You! Abomination! *Blood Mage*!"

And then it would all be over.

Mercy.

He gathers his power and slices a little deeper this time. Red red red red everywhere, gushing and spilling, staining and spreading. He feels his spine relax marginally.

Tranquility would not be so bad.

*He* finds the tranquil positively creepy, but *they* always say they are content when he asks them.

He asks them... every time he sees them.

He needs to know.

He feels the Veil stretch, reacting to his emotions. Tantalizing whispers promising release, promising peace and happiness, promising acceptance, promising *safety*. Long practice allows him to shut all the whispers out. They are worthy of no consideration. He would choose Tranquility over demons.

He knows that in his heart.

Lily... Lily had left him when she'd learned that he would be made tranquil. It was... too much for her. The mere possibility of him being... exactly what he is.

He never told her about his plans to escape. He knew that, without her, there would be no point.

He can control the Templars with his blood -- he has no doubt of that -- but then what? Where would he go? The Tower had always been his home, and, without Lily...

He digs his magic deeper into his wrist, nearly puncturing through to the other side. Blood dances in the air, weaving dark and... *such* lovely patterns in front of his face. He wonders if he looks like a demon, yet.

He... can't.

Amell had been taken last night. She has yet to return. He wonders if she -- 

He had hoped to see her one more time, before, but... it's been hours.

He sighs, drawing the blood back into his body with a thought and slowly healing the wound. Slow means pain, but he wants that, right now. He wants to feel *one* more time. Before.

When it's over, he stiffens his spine, waves the evidence away with long practice, and then turns and walks out, closing the door of the storage room behind him.

This time, it will be different.

He is not a coward. He is afraid, but -- soon, he won't be.

He lets his feet carry him to Ser Graegoir's rooms.

Taking a deep breath, Jowan knocks on the door.


End file.
